Last First

Last week I texted a picture to my son to commemorate what I suggested was his "last first day of school." The photo was one of him on his very first day of school. Standing on our front porch with a horsey backpack that  was nearly as big as he was, ready for whatever Peter Pan had to offer. He responded by reminding me that it wasn't truly his last first day, since he still had another quarter left after this one, but  he appreciated the sentiment.
I was looking back, as is my parental prerogative. I was reminded of all those autumn days that marked another passage. I thought about all the conversations I have had with my son over those years about anxieties and frustrations and relief when the end was finally at hand. Mostly those signaled ends were breaks or vacations. Now we were edging toward the Omega. The Big One. Matriculation. And my son will be moving on from his educational odyssey. Soon.
This  has been the cause of not so much a time of looking back for him, but  ahead. We have talked about leaving all that behind. A chunk of that relief will come, by his reckoning, once he departs not just the school but the town he has been living in for the past five years. Goodbye to all that college town, hello to whatever metropolis will have him with those newly minted skills and diploma.
Which I understand. But upon review of my own collegiate experience, I wish I would have lingered or at least appreciated the way things were back in the day. One bedroom apartment, working at a video store. Trying to get a date, but having a pretty amusing time while figuring that out. It was a lot like bowling with the bumpers up. And yet, I too was anxious to get to the next level. I wanted to be a grownup.
And now, so does my son. He wants to get out there and make his mark. Whatever that is. The mark I had in mind when I graduated was not  elementary education. I had no idea that California was the place I wanted to be. Life, as the poet once noted, was what  happened while I was busy making other plans. Now it's time for my son to reckon on his own song. It's time for him to have his next first day. Wherever that might take him.